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I’ve been airsick, seasick, trainsick, carsick, motorcyclesick, and lots of other sicks, but I’ve never been cannonsick before, and I don’t think I ever will be.

Out in front of good Father Sather was a cannon, the kind that means business. Our towering overseer chimed, nodded, and sent me on my way. I almost hit my head on the moon before I came down to earth again.

Andrea Gibson’s “Asking Too Much” is a great poem.

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